Susan Marksman
by MinnieCat5
Summary: Narnia is behind them. Susan wants to enjoy her life on Earth. The Seven Friends have excluded her, but Lucy has not given up hope for Susan to come round. Before long, though, it won't matter what any of the Seven thinks. Susan's loss will lead her on an unexpected adventure - and hopefully, these witches aren't like Jadis.
1. Love

**Love**

Lucy Pevensie was somewhere she wasn't supposed to be. At least, that's what her eldest brother, Peter, would say. Lucy, though, had developed her own ideas of right and wrong in the years since she first entered Narnia at the age of eight. Of course, she respected Peter as her older brother and as High King of Narnia, but she was seventeen years old now, and he couldn't dictate everything she did anymore.

So, just because Peter thought that Lucy shouldn't be sitting on the edge of her sister Susan's bed in the older girl's tiny apartment in the south of England, didn't mean that Lucy agreed. In fact, Lucy felt that it was a perfectly appropriate place to be.

"We're all meeting for supper next week. You should come!" Lucy urged earnestly, smiling at her older sister without a hint towards acknowledging how bold a suggestion this was. By "all," Lucy meant the seven friends of Narnia: Professor Kirke, Aunt Polly, Peter, Edmund, Eustace, Jill, and – of course – Lucy. Susan had been excluded from their number, first at her own request, but in years since by Peter's choice to name their group the _seven_ friends of Narnia.

Susan also sat on the edge of her bed, up by the bedside table, where a small mirror was leaning against a stack of books. _The Age of Innocence_ and _Laura_ were the two titles that Lucy could make out from her position at the end of the bed, around the assorted objects Susan had on the table. She was leaning over the mirror while applying her make-up; she had plans to go to a party that evening.

Leaning away from the mirror but without looking at Lucy, Susan sighed and replied drily, "I doubt the others would be pleased to know you've extended me an invitation."

Lucy scoffed and tossed her hair over her shoulder, "Jill, perhaps. Don't mind her. Come, prove her wrong!"

"And Peter?"

"Peter can be an arrogant prick sometimes, but if you came he would welcome you."

Susan laughed, but said nothing. Lucy watched as Susan applied her lipstick to her lower lip, and then rubbed her lips together. As she set the tube down she turned to finally face Lucy. "Peter would welcome me if I agreed to devote my life to the things he believes in."

The sisters stared, slightly challenging, at each other for a few pregnant moments. Tension sprung up between them. Finally, Lucy quietly replied, "I know you know Narnia is real."

Susan pursed her freshly painted lips and turned away, saying nothing. She did not like arguing with Lucy, especially about this. Eventually, she said, "We were children, Lu. That part of our lives is over."

Indignant, Lucy hopped down the bed to sit closer to Susan, "But it's not, Su! You weren't there at the World's End, but Aslan so much as told us that he was –" She stopped as Susan whirled to face her sharply, her lips set in a hard line. Lucy squared her shoulders, inhaled deeply, and made to continue, but Susan cut her off.

"I know what you all say about him. Just because you want something to be true doesn't mean that it is."

Lucy deflated, and the sisters were quiet for a moment. The nasty things Jill sometimes said about Susan surfaced to Lucy's consciousness as she watched Susan work on her eye make-up. She refused to believe that Susan cared for nothing but her appearance and her social life. She turned her gaze to her hands in her lap, and started fiddling with her skirt contemplatively. The two sisters sat in a slightly tense silence, neither quite sure of what to say to the other. Several times they would glance each other's way, as if they were about to say something, before turning away; this would happen while the other was not looking.

Ultimately it was stubborn, ever-valiant Lucy who broke the silence, "Why is it so hard for you to admit that Narnia is real?"

Susan, who had finished making up her face, made a show of organizing her cosmetics on the bedside table. Lucy watched her with a slight frown. When it seemed clear that Susan had no reply, she said, "Please, Susan. Just answer the question."

The elder sister's fingers stayed their movement, and her head tilted towards her lap. After a few beats, she sighed, and finally lifted her head to face Lucy solemnly, brushing a lock of hair out of her face as she did so. "Lucy…"

"Don't lie to me." Lucy could tell by the tone of Susan's voice that she was beginning to repeat one of her tired lines that Lucy had heard too many times before.

Susan pursed her lips again, averting her gaze from Lucy and instead looking out the window. She took a deep breath, and this time hope flickered in Lucy's breast; Susan appeared to be steeling herself to say something new, and perhaps difficult. Without looking at Lucy, Susan said, "Perhaps it's too much for me."

Lucy's heart beat faster, and she was quick to reply, "What is?"

Susan shot her younger sister a stern look, as if to say, _You know exactly what_. Once she returned her gaze to the window, she instead answered, "Dwelling on Narnia, and enjoying the life I have now."

"Dwelling? You say that as if –" Lucy began, her voice raising slightly with indignance.

Susan, though, had finally found her courage. She turned sharply to face Lucy, and interrupted, "Yes, dwelling. Narnia, real or not, is behind us. It is part of our past. Real or not, one of the rules of the game was that we could never return once we were no longer children. Continuing to pine after such a game is _dwelling_. I prefer to live in the present, and focus on the future. Is that so unreasonable of me? Am I not permitted to enjoy this life that I have here? Must I mourn my childhood memories for the rest of my life?"

Silence. Susan's breast was heaving, and her fists were clenched. She seemed to have been bottling these emotions for a long time. Lucy licked her lips and tilted her head downward, returning her gaze to her hands clasped in her lap. As the seconds ticked by, Susan's shoulders relaxed, and she uncurled her fingers. Turning away from Lucy, she sighed and said, "I'm sorry, Lu. I shouldn't –"

"No," Lucy interrupted quietly, lifting her head. Susan stopped and turned to stare at Lucy. "I'm sorry." Susan blinked in surprise, and Lucy smiled ruefully. "I understand."

A long, low sigh of relief escaped Susan, and she finally smiled a wide, genuine smile at her younger sister, "You do?"

Lucy nodded. "I still don't feel the same way. I don't believe that I am mourning Narnia. Rather, I believe that my experiences in Narnia have made my perception of this world richer. I believe that it has affected you similarly, although you don't realize it. Yet, I do see your perspective. I do miss Narnia; it was a glorious part of our lives. If sadness for the loss of those days is what comes to mind when you think of Narnia, then I don't begrudge you for focusing on the present. I am sorry, though, that you were not able to return to Narnia a third time like me and Edmund. Perhaps it would have helped you see things my way."

Susan smiled drily, and chose only to say, "Perhaps," in response to that.

Lucy smiled slightly, knowing her sister was restraining herself from arguing, probably about the potential for Susan to be able to see things Lucy's way. She added, "Ultimately, you are free to do what you want with your life. I'm sorry for the part I've played in pressuring you to be someone you're not." Leaning forward playfully, she added, "And perhaps it does you good to not expect any of your current suitors to nearly go to war over your hand."

Susan could not help it; she laughed out loud. Lucy smiled broadly. Susan's full, unrestrained laughter at a joke to do with a memory from Narnia filled Lucy with joy, as well as hope for the future of their Narnian family's reconciliation.


	2. Loss

**Loss**

Three weeks later, Susan stood in the same room, unsure of what to do. Mindlessly, she began to tidy her room. She had just kicked off her black shoes, so she started by picking up all the pairs of shoes she had lying around her bedroom floor. Most of them were just barely sticking out from under her bed. Once that task was complete, she began wiping dust from surfaces with her fingers. It didn't take long for this to disgust her, and so she moved on to straightening various objects in her room: knickknacks, books, papers. She avoided the picture frames.

She had a large, messy stack of papers on her bedside table that she had accumulated over the past week. It was full of things she was not ready to go through again, although she'd had to when she'd first acquired them out of necessity. Instead she picked them up, tapped the bottom of the stack against the table two times to straighten them out, and then opened the drawer of her bedside table to put them in there for now. The abrupt motion, though, of pulling the stack back towards her with one hand as she opened the drawer caused a piece of paper smaller than the rest, that she evidently had not had a good grip on, to fall out from the stack and onto the floor.

Susan stood motionless as she stared down at the small slip of paper at her feet. She pressed her lips together and inhaled deeply as a wave of emotion swelled inside of her. She closed her eyes tightly, and counted her breaths as she forced herself to breathe evenly. Slowly, she set the stack of papers back down on the table, and bent to pick up the paper that had escaped.

It was a train ticket. Not just any train ticket, either. She fell onto the bed, seated on the edge precisely in the spot in which she'd sat three weeks ago, when Lucy visited. The hand holding the train ticket dropped to her lap, and she bowed her head. A sharp sniff escaped her nose, and although her lips were still pressed in a firm line as if part of her was still trying to hold it together, she put her face in her free hand and let the tears come.

At first she cried quietly, but then she began to make short, soft hiccuping noises. She was supposed to have used the ticket. Her shoulders shook. Lucy had pleaded with her to use that ticket. Susan moaned in pain. She had told Lucy to leave her alone. She pressed her hand to her chest and bent double. Lucy had left saying, " _I love you_." Sobs racked Susan's body. Susan had ignored her.

Now, Lucy would never hear Susan say, "I love you," again.

Nor would Peter, or Edmund, or Eustace…or her father, or her mother. Never again would she embrace them, nor would she embrace Professor Kirke, or Aunt Polly, or even Jill. She wished she'd been kinder to them. She wished she'd put in more of an effort.

She wished she would have embraced Narnia with them.

Her stomach turned at the thought of Narnia. She pushed those thoughts away.

Susan let herself cry, let the tears cover her face, wet her hair, and stain her neat funeral dress; she had not had many opportunities to let herself cry with such abandon since she'd learned what happened. She'd had to identify bodies, contact her aunt and uncle, help plan a funeral, as well endure well-meaning condolences and words of concern from distant relatives and family friends who she did not personally have any strong bonds with. Her friends had tried to be supportive, but even with the war so fresh none of them could fathom the loss of their entire immediate family, and she had become distant from them.

As her sobs faded into sniffles, Susan leaned back onto her bed, wiping her face. The past week had been emotionally exhausting. She had no energy or desire to do anything but lay in her bed. She wasn't ready to move on with her life, but her personal time at working was running short, and she had the impression that her office felt secretaries were disposable.

Sniffling, she rolled onto her side and looked at the ticket again. In her shoes, Lucy would be strong. Lucy would want her to enjoy life. _Lucy would want you to embrace Narnia_ , her subconscious whispered treacherously. She brushed that thought away like she had the last intrusive thought about Narnia.

Susan set the ticket down. She would do her best to live her life for Lucy.

* * *

Susan was kneeling on the floor next to her bed. She reached under and pulled out one of the chests she kept beneath her bed for storage. Taking a deep breath, she flipped it open and peered inside. In this chest she kept anything the seven friends of Narnia had given her over the years in the hope that they'd remind her of a supposedly happier time and bring her back into their fold. It was tough to go through this box, for several reasons, but she was looking for something specific. She pushed past a wooden horn given to her by Peter that was supposed to remind her of the horn Father Christmas gave her in Narnia all those years ago. She nearly brushed aside a beautiful wooden carving Edmund had made himself of a roaring lion, but it stared up at her accusingly, challengingly, and so she picked it up. Edmund had done an unbelievable job with the detail in his face and mane. He had meant for the roaring to look inspiring, heartening, but it instead filled her with guilt and shame.

She felt a familiar wave of emotion surge within her, but she suppressed it, dropping the lion onto her bed. She did not want to cry. She was on a mission. She pushed aside letters, invitations, small paintings, and other knickknacks, and finally found what she opened the box to retrieve at the very bottom. She lifted the pair of objects out of the chest and stared at them, taking a deep breath.

In her hands she held a bow and a quiver of arrows, in a modern style that only resembled the Narnian set she'd once used in function. Lucy had optimistically given them to her just last Christmas. " _I know you enjoyed shooting in that silly game we played as children_ ," Lucy had said, her eyes sparkling excitedly, mischievously.

Susan had never used it. Now, though, she was inspired by her mission to live her life the way Lucy would have wanted. Through searching community activity boards and the newspaper, she had found a place where she could practice with the bow and arrow not too far from where she lived. She planned to go alone. She was still distant from her friends; it was hard to reintegrate herself into her social life, still. Her friends tended to tiptoe around her, and treat her as though she was a piece of glass that could be easily shattered. Her seemingly sudden desire to practice shooting a bow would probably alarm them. Besides, she didn't mind going alone. She preferred it. When she'd shoot for sport in Narnia, it had always been a peaceful activity.

This time, she only tensed a little at the thought of Narnia.


	3. Discovery

**Discovery**

Spring turned into summer, and fall swiftly approached. Susan settled back into her life, for the most part, although there was still – and would always be – a hole in her heart from the loss of her family. She felt it at odd times, unexpected times, as well as with predictable clockwork on specific dates and during specific activities.

In her mission to enjoy her life in Lucy's name, she had taken to waking up earlier so that she could take various routes while walking to work that took longer but which allowed her to explore her city and appreciate the scenery. Today she was walking through a park she had traversed only a handful of times. It was a popular, well-manicured park, with broad paths that allowed pedestrians to walk double-wide in both directions. Susan, though, walked alone.

It was a beautiful Saturday morning – Susan unfortunately worked most weekends – and the park was bustling with people already. She looked around at the people as she walked. She smiled fondly at a family passing her in the other direction; a mother pushed a pram while two young girls walked beside her. The two girls seemed to be a few years apart, and the older of the two seemed to be on the verge of puberty. Susan watched as the younger girl, skipping and laughing, attempted to goad the older girl into chasing her. Susan's smile wavered as the older girl, with her arms crossed self-consciously, retorted that they would look stupid running; her heart ached as she noticed the younger girl's smile falter as she stopped skipping. Susan wanted to shake the older girl.

Susan clenched her fists and shook her head sharply, as if to clear her head, as she finally passed the family. They had put her off people watching, and so she took to observing the trees and bushes along the manicured path. Slowly, she relaxed into the mindless, peaceful task of looking at plants. She liked green, and the leaves here were of a deep, pleasant green that helped her to feel at ease again. She let everything slip away around her except the colors of the trees and bushes she passed, of those deep greens and rich browns. As such, when she passed a blotch of an ashier brown, it caught her eye and caused her to do a double take.

Slowing down, Susan frowned lightly as she stared at the patch of ashy brown bark. The fragments of bark didn't seem to be quite the same shape, either. The differences were almost unnoticeable, but they were there. Susan walked closer and stopped in front of the tree with the peculiar patch of inconsistency. Up close, she observed that the anomalous bark was contained within a perfect rectangle.

She looked around. No one was paying any attention to her. She leaned closer, and realized with wide eyes that the rectangle was not part of the tree at all. She could peer _over_ the rectangle, and see a perfectly normal tree behind it. Most remarkably, if she peered over it, she could not see the rectangle from the other side. It seemed to be a window into – Susan hardly dared to think it – another place.

Susan felt a rush of excitement and fear at this revelation. One word popped into her head with this discovery: _Narnia_. Goosebumps raised on Susan's arms, and her stomach lurched nervously. She turned sharply away from her discovery, taking a deep, even breath. As she continued to make her way towards work, she did her best to put the little window out of her mind.

* * *

Over the course of the next week, Susan avoided returning to the park in which she found the window. Most of the time, she could put it out of her mind, but usually it returned to her consciousness as she laid in bed at night, or whenever she thought of Lucy. She knew in her heart that if Lucy had found that window, she would have found out that very evening if it was possible to go through it, and if so, what else was on the other side. Susan felt guilty for not pursuing that for Lucy, but she was afraid. She was afraid of what she might find, and what it would tell her about herself. She was afraid that it really was Narnia.

Ultimately, although she tried to put it out of her mind, Susan could not stop thinking about the window. One week after she had first encountered it, she found herself making her way through the park in which she'd found it, carefully observing the trees. When she finally found it again, she felt a peculiar mix of excitement and disappointment. Fear and curiosity battled within her, pulling her in different directions. She looked around. It was cloudy today, and colder than it had been all week. Fewer people were about than there had been just one week ago. The closest people to her were about one hundred meters away and engrossed in their own conversation. Tentatively, she reached out with one finger and slowly attempted to stick it through the window.

Her heart did a somersault as it easily passed through the edges of the rectangle, and she quickly withdrew her finger. She could tell the moment her finger had passed the edge, because the breeze had been blowing in a different direction, and was colder than the breeze that tickled her cheeks. The difference had struck her unexpectedly. Her heart pounded as she stared at the little window in front of the tree.

Shaking her head, Susan plunged her fists into the pockets of her light jacket and trudged onwards to work.

* * *

Now that she had discovered that it was possible to pass through the window, Susan had a hard time keeping away from it. She walked passed it nearly every morning, now, unless she woke up feeling particularly afraid of it. Even on days when she felt a little fearful, she would force herself to walk by it, as if doing so did some justice to Lucy's memory. She knew, though, that she wouldn't fully do right by Lucy unless she plucked up the courage to go through the window one day.

Some days she woke up feeling confident that she would go through that day. As the day wore on, though, fear would overcome her and she would lose her conviction. Her guilt for not fulfilling her promise to live her life for Lucy gnawed at her each time she backed out of any half-formed plans of going through the window.

One day, as she came home from archery practice with the bag she used to carry her bow and arrow in public swung over her shoulder, she stopped just inside the doorway, looking down at the bag. She'd just had an exhilarating afternoon shooting arrows at the range, and she could almost feel Lucy's adventurous spirit with her. Inhaling deeply, she swiftly made her way over to her refrigerator, quickly setting the bag down on the counter beside it. Without stopping to allow herself to think too much, she started packing food into the bag from both her refrigerator and the cabinet next to it she used for her non-perishable snacks: fruits and vegetables still in their produce bags, a container of leftover pasta, bread, various spreads, and snack bars were among the things she quickly threw into her bag.

She then walked two paces to her bedroom door, where she changed into her warmest socks and then grabbed her warmest coat – her finger test had shown that the other place was colder than it was here – which she brought back to her bag and shoved that in as well. With the coat successfully shoved into the bag, Susan finally stopped moving. She stood, staring at the bag, and realized that her shoulders were heaving. She was breathing heavily. Susan rested her hands on the countertop and bowed her head over the bag. _This is stupid_ , she thought. _I can't –_ but she shook her head. _No. I can._

Susan pressed her hands against her temples and walked in a circle, breathing deeply as fear started to creep back into her heart. Pursing her lips into a thin line, Susan turned sharply and marched over to a stack of books on a table next to a chair in the corner of her apartment she designated the "sitting room," and grabbed the picture frame that had been resting there, hiding behind the stack.

Staring at the picture in the frame took her breath away in a way she hadn't quite expected. Her heart pounded as she looked at the faces in the photo. It had been hiding behind the stack of books for a reason. The sight of the faces of her siblings and parents still wrenched at her heart, even more than six months after their deaths. These people – her parents included – were courageous. She had been, once, too. She still could be.

Gripping the photo tightly, she walked purposefully back towards her bag. The photo joined the rest of the items in her bag. She zipped the bag with finality, and immediately made her way back out of her apartment before she could change her mind.

It was dusk, now. The sun was almost gone. Susan walked quickly to the park with the window, her heart beating fast. She was resolved to go through tonight, but fear was still nagging at the back of her mind. She pushed it down. Lucy wouldn't be afraid.

Before she knew it, she was standing in front of the tree that had the window in front of it, at about waist-height. There was no one else around this late. Her heart was in her chest as she stared at the floating window, breathing slowly and intentionally. She jerked towards it twice, stopping herself in fear each time. Susan huffed in annoyance at herself after the second time, and finally took one step forward. With her second step, she stepped through the window. Her head followed her first foot, and then her second knee, and then finally, both of her feet were on the ground in another world.


	4. Danger

**Danger**

The first thing Susan noticed was that there was snow on the ground. As she walked away from the window and looked around, she subconsciously wrapped her arms around herself. She walked slowly, staring up at the bare branches of the ashy trees around her. She wondered where she was. Although she had avoided reminiscing with the seven friends of Narnia, she had not been able to avoid learning Professor Kirke and Aunt Polly's story. From them, she knew that there were more worlds than Earth and Narnia. Part of her hoped this was Narnia. Part of her feared that it was.

She didn't get far before she realized that she had been absently rubbing her arms through her light autumn coat, and was glad she had thought to bring her thick winter coat. She set her bag on the ground, unzipped it, and pulled the coat out. As she bundled herself in it she couldn't believe she had been too distracted by observing her surroundings to notice how cold it was. She wished she'd thought to bring a hat.

Susan bent down to zip her bag back up, but as she did so, she faintly heard in the distance quick footsteps in the snow. She froze, crouched beside her bag. The bare trees did not offer much cover, and her black coat stood out sharply against the snow. Her heart raced, and she looked back towards the tree her window faced. She could not see it from this angle, but she knew where it was. The footsteps grew louder, and she imagined that their quickness seemed frantic. Her heart was pounding in her ears. It was stupid to come here. She knew nothing about this place, and now an unknown threat was swiftly approaching her.

Looking back towards her bag, she caught sight of the curve of her bow at the bottom. Her arrows were not sharp enough to truly be a weapon, but with the right momentum she could potentially do some damage. That is, if she successfully hit a moving target. She had not practiced with moving targets at the range.

Making up her mind, Susan's hands darted to grab her bow, and she rummaged for her quiver. The footsteps grew closer. She could see a large, dark shape through the trees. Susan's hands grew clumsier with fear. Her hands found purchase on her smooth quiver. As she pulled it out, it slipped from her hands, getting caught on something else inside of her bag. Several arrows fell out. The approaching figure seemed now to be two distinct figures. Was someone being chased? By what?

Susan's hands shook as she grabbed one of the fallen arrows and notched it on her bow. _Breathe, Susan_ , she thought to herself. _Breathe. Steady. You have one shot. One shot. Don't waste it on the first thing that moves. Breathe. You can do this. You've done it before, long ago._ Her hands steadied as a familiar calm washed over her. She pulled the bowstring tighter, surer. There were definitely two figures. The closer figure seemed to be a woman, and her pursuer seemed to be a man. Susan aimed for the man, but didn't shoot just yet. She waited for them to draw closer. Her heart pounded, but her hands were sure and steady now. Her aim was locked on the man, and she moved the point of her arrow as he moved.

The woman was close enough for Susan to see her distressed expression, now. She, too, saw Susan. She shouted at Susan frantically in a language that Susan did not understand. Susan did not acknowledge the woman at all, and remained focused on tracking the man. She only processed the woman's panic. A glint of something silver in the man's hand flashed in the moonlight. Susan's heart skipped a terrified beat. She breathed slowly, evenly for the next two beats, centering herself once more, and let the arrow fly. The woman dove to the ground. The man slowed to a jog, confused at his prey's clearly deliberate dive, and looked around. Susan could hear her heartbeat pounding in her head as she urged him in her mind to keep jogging forward a little further to reach the point she anticipated he would be once the arrow she loosed reached him. He kept moving, not yet fully processing what had been happening around him while he had been focused on pursuing the woman.

A rush of satisfaction and relief coursed through Susan as the man cried out in pain. She darted down to pick up another fallen arrow, and quickly notched it. Her eyes widened as she took in the condition of the man before her. He was grasping at her arrow, for it had punctured his skin at the base of his neck, and he was bleeding profusely from the wound. Her arrow had not gone very far into his body, but it had been effective. In her moment of hesitation, the woman leapt back to her feet, whirled around to face her pursuer, and raised her own bow and arrow. As quickly as she had stood, her arrow reached its target, and the man fell back with an arrow in his chest and his hand still lightly touching the arrow in his neck.

Both women turned to face each other now. They each lowered their arrows slightly, but not completely. Susan noticed that the woman had already notched another arrow. They sized each other up. Susan was alarmed to see that the woman was clad in only strips of black silk. Had the man ripped her clothing? Even as she thought this, she observed that the way the strips were laid on her body seemed intentional. The woman's eyes lingered on Susan's thick winter coat.

The woman was the first to speak, but again, she spoke in a language that Susan did not understand. Susan stared at her uncomprehendingly, and finally replied, "Do you speak English?"

The woman blinked in surprise, and replied, "Yes." They stared at each other for a moment more, before the woman continued, "You shoot well, but your arrows are not sharp."

"They're for sport," she replied, her heart pounding. She did not comment on the fact that the strange woman's arrows definitely _were_ sharp.

After a few more moments of contemplation, the woman nodded to herself curtly, as if she had made up her mind. She slowly bent down and set her bow and arrows on the ground, "I lay my weapons down."

Susan blinked, taken aback. This must be an accepted formality of her culture. The woman must have decided that Susan was no real threat to her, and made the first move towards peace. Slowly, Susan decided to mimic her; she bent down and set her bow and single arrow on the ground. Unsure, she repeated, "I lay my weapons down."

The woman smiled, "I am Julia Ojuland, of the Nania witch clan. Who are you? Where is your dæmon?"

Several parts of this introduction made Susan's head spin. _Nania? Like Narnia? Witches? My demon?_ "My name is Susan Pevensie. I'm…from England." She paused, looking inquiringly at the witch. "I don't have a demon. Wouldn't it be bad if I did?"

Julia frowned deeply. Her hand twitched, as if she considered picking up her weapon again for a moment. Susan's heart leapt nervously. She had only encountered one witch before, and that had not been a positive interaction. Julia did not pick up her weapons, though, but stared penetratingly at Susan instead. Susan grew uncomfortable under Julia's stare, but almost as soon as the witch's gaze grew piecing, it relaxed again. Julia's face lightened; the curiosity in her gaze seemed suddenly less threatening. She replied, "You do have a dæmon. It is hidden from you, but you have one."

"I don't understand," Susan confessed, feeling more confused with that response.

"I do not fully understand, either. What is clear to me, though, is that you are not from this world," Julia deduced. Susan's heart leapt to her throat. She felt exposed under the observations of this woman, this witch. "I do not know how, but you must be, for you to know who you are and say you are from England, but to not know what a dæmon is and to have yours hidden."

Susan still felt confused, but she latched on to one word in that explanation in particular: _England_. Julia knew about England. There must be an England in this world. As far as Susan knew, though, there were no witches in her world.

Julia smiled kindly at her, "Gather your things. I will take you to my sisters."

Obediently, unsure of what else to do out here in the cold in this strange world, Susan gathered her arrows into their quiver and swung them and her bow onto her back. She closed her bag and shouldered it as well. Julia, who had already placed her bow and quiver on her back, turned back in the direction from which she'd come. Susan made to follow her, but hesitated, looking back at the tree with the window. Quickly, she moved towards it, drawing an arrow from her quiver. She drew an "L" in the bark, for Lucy, because it seemed like the kind of symbol that might have been made accidentally, unlike an "S" for Susan, or a traditional "X."

She turned back, and her face colored to find that Julia was watching her. The witch had noticed Susan's deviation from the path she'd set. Susan licked her lips nervously and, without a word, set out after the witch. Her eyes trailed uncomfortably over the man lying prone in the snow, which was stained red with his blood, presumably dead.

"Why was he chasing you?" Susan asked.

"I rejected him," Julia replied simply.

"He had a weapon," Susan remarked.

"Most people do in this region."

Susan wanted to ask why the witch had not performed some kind of magic on the man to stop him, but she did not want to seem more ignorant than she already did. So she followed Julia in silence, hoping her trust was not misplaced. She did her best to make note of her surroundings, in case she needed to turn back on her own, but most of the trees looked the same, and the farther they went, the harder it became to keep track. She tried to be optimistic, and pushed back the doubting thoughts about how foolish she had been to come through that window.


	5. Witches

**Witches**

As Julia led Susan through the trees, Susan walked with her arms wrapped tightly around herself and her chin buried in her coat. Now that her adrenaline had faded, the cold had begun to penetrate her bones, even through her thickest coat. She eyed Julia's thin, silk clothing, if it could be called that. The witch must have some magic, to walk without shivering, and for her skin to look rosy and healthy despite being so scantily clad in the snow. As they walked, Susan envied her.

Eventually Susan saw ahead that Julia was leading her to a cave. She could not see any kind of settlement around them, and wondered where the man came from. The cave made Susan nervous; she would have been more comforted by a cottage with a smoking chimney, even if the fumes wafting up from it originated in a cauldron. At least, though, Julia was not leading her to a sinister castle like the White Witch's.

Julia walked confidently over the threshold of the cave. It took Susan's eyes a moment to adjust to the change in lighting, but once she did she noticed that they were not alone. About a dozen other women, all dressed in strips of black silk like Julia, were going about their days inside the cave. Many were just sitting around, chatting in a language Susan did not understand, but a few seemed to be performing tasks. One witch busied around a group of branches leaning against the wall of the cave, while another seemed intently focused on a small bowl of plants she was crushing with her bare hands. Susan was disheartened to notice that they did not have a fire burning anywhere in the cave.

A few witches looked up as Julia and Susan entered, and greeted Julia warmly in that language foreign to Susan. Their eyes trailed curiously over to Susan, and a few stared unabashedly at her.

Julia raised her voice and called for the attention of the witches in the cave; Susan only understood her because of her tone and the response she received. All the witches, even those who had been performing other chores around the cave, turned to Julia. Some came closer. Julia turned towards Susan and smiled encouragingly, holding her hand out to the human woman. Susan hesitantly took it, and stepped forward to be in line with Julia.

"Sisters!" Julia called in English. "This is Susan Pevensie, a human from England. We met as I was being chased through the wood by a man from the village who felt scorned by my refusal of his advances. He had broken my cloud pine, and so I had no other means of escape. Susan wounded him with her bow, and allowed me to strike him down with mine. Let us welcome her, and start a fire to keep her warm."

Susan's face felt warm from embarrassment at the sudden attention she was receiving. The witches welcomed her warmly, and brought her to a fire they quickly kindled. Once she was by the fire, Susan forgot her embarrassment and was simply grateful for its warmth. One witch brought her a cup of a warm beverage that reminded Susan of tea. The witches focused their attention on Julia, though, asking her questions in their language. They didn't seem upset or worried, though; Susan watched as Julia said something to a group of them with a mischievous look on her face, which made the women laugh.

As Susan warmed up, she slowly allowed herself to relax. Although she was surrounded by strangers, for some reason she did not feel threatened by them. She now sat next to the fire with her arms and legs spread out, instead of in the fetal position she had been sitting in when they first led her to the fire. Noticing that she appeared more relaxed, Julia came to sit next to her, "Feeling warmer?"

Susan nodded, smiling gratefully, "Yes, thank you."

"Your arrows are peculiar," Julia remarked conversationally. "You said they were for sport, but I thought hunting was sport for humans."

"I meant that they're for target practice," Susan clarified.

Julia nodded in understanding, "You seem to be too skilled for dulled practice arrows."

Susan laugh lightly, feeling embarrassed again, "Where I come from, people don't use bows and arrows anymore for serious fighting or hunting."

"I see. Humans here have mostly moved on as well. I forget, sometimes. I have been alive for a long time, you see." Julia's eyes sparkled mischievously as they searched Susan's expression. Susan was debating if it would be insensitive to ask just how long Julia had been alive. Julia perceived this, and quipped playfully, "How old do you think I am?"

Susan opened and closed her mouth nervously, taken aback. Straightening her back and setting her shoulders with more confidence than she had, she replied boldly, "One hundred?"

Julia grinned broadly, "You are thinking along the correct lines, but no. I am nearing my four hundredth year."

Susan nearly dropped her cup. Even though she managed to hold on to it, she still showed her surprise very visibly. Julia laughed at the way Susan's body lurched forward, the way her eyes went round, and the way her jaw dropped. "Four hundred?"

Julia smiled, "Yes, four hundred. Witches live very long lives, in comparison to the flicker of time humans spend in this world. Your lives are so fragile, so quick to us."

Susan felt an unexpectedly sudden heaviness in her chest, and she bowed her head. She remembered what had inspired her to make the foolish decision to go through that window in the first place. She remembered what she had been mourning for the past seven or so months. Inexplicably, she remembered the man she'd only just helped kill. Susan pressed her lips together firmly, and inhaled sharply. She did not want to cry here, among all these strangers.

She felt a gentle hand on her back, and turned to find a look of sorrowful understanding on Julia's face. The witch spoke, "You have known loss, and at so young an age." Susan turned away again without a word. After a few seconds of silence, she nodded once, curtly. Julia continued, "I am sorry for reminding you of your troubles." They sat in silence for a few moments, before the witch asked, "Is that why you are here? Were you looking to start anew?"

Susan did not answer immediately. Julia waited patiently. Eventually, Susan replied, "Yes. In a way. I'm not sure." Julia said nothing, but her hand remained on Susan's back. Susan stared at her hands, clasped around her cup. She realized, as she stared at it, that she felt less alone here, in this cave, next to a witch named Julia, who she had just met, than she had felt in a long time. She felt compelled to continue, "I lost my entire family in an accident about seven months ago."

Susan wasn't prepared for the emotion that welled up within her after saying that out loud. She couldn't continue. Julia clicked her tongue softly, sympathetically, sorrowfully, and slid her hand around Susan's shoulders. Susan leaned into the half-embrace. "Life is a fragile thing," the witch said softly. "I have known loss, too. I have lost sons, lovers, my mother, and one daughter. Witches may seem immortal to humans, but we are not, and we too are susceptible to death. And, of course, the men in my life have all been humans – yes, even my sons." The last part Julia said in response to Susan's expression of surprise. "Mourning never truly ends, but the pain dulls with time. One day you will realize it has been weeks since you thought of your loss, and then months. At first you will feel guilty. You will worry you are forgetting. The people you have loved, though, will stay with you forever. It is normal and natural to let them go, and to carry on with your life. You still deserve to live a good one." Julia smiled at Susan, and tightened her grip around the young woman's shoulders briefly, comfortingly, "Perhaps you were meant to find me in the wood. Perhaps we can help each other."

"How could I help you?" Susan asked doubtfully, sheepishly.

Julia laughed, "You already have! You may have saved my life today. Who knows what that man would have done with his knife when he finally overtook me? I could not have run forever."

Susan's face was red, but she nodded, "Perhaps, then."

* * *

The witches took Susan in, and treated her as if she was one of their own. Susan was both baffled and humbled by this kindness at first, but about a week into her stay with the witches she learned that Julia, the witch that she "saved," as they were calling it, was their queen. She had unwittingly protected their leader from harm, and had gained her trust and friendship; as such, she gained the trust and friendship of all the witches of the Nania tribe. There were more members of the clan than those Susan had met on her first day in this world – the witches seemed to be partially nomadic – but every time a new witch appeared at the cave, they were introduced enthusiastically to Susan and the new witch would welcome her, too.

They procured proper furs for Susan, in the form of both clothes for her to wear and blankets for her to sleep with. At times she felt like their pet human, whose susceptibility to the cold was cute and amusing. They seemed to enjoy bundling her in furs. They taught her how to cook with an open fire, how to find food in the snow, how to make arrows, and how to say a few key phrases in Estonian. She picked up hunting quickly, and they all commented on her skill at archery, which was a high compliment from a witch. So taken were they with this human's exceptional skill with their favorite weapon that they started calling her Susan Marksman.

They took her to the village every now and then, where she noticed she was eyed with suspicion by the other humans. The suspicion was not rooted in her lack of dæmon, because the witches would cleverly enchant a common bird to follow Susan around while she was amongst the humans. They assured her the humans would not notice, because dæmons rarely spoke to other humans. Other dæmons would notice something was odd, but they would sense magic around the bird and would – hopefully – assume it was intentionally shielding itself from contact with others. This was why she needed a witch to accompany her to the village: they needed to monitor the enchantment. No, the suspicion was not about her dæmon; rather, it was about her association with witches. The first time she noticed this was the first time she realized that just because witches were real and kind in this world did not mean that there were not stereotypes about them here similar to those in her world.

She learned about dæmons from the witches, and once she finally understood she wished that dæmons were visible in her world. They taught her how to see her own, and she was pleased to discover that like the witches, her dæmon was a bird: a blackbird, specifically. When Julia's dæmon, Anti, visited soon after Susan's arrival, he named Susan's dæmon Taevas. The witches impressed upon her the significance of them teaching her any witch-lore at all, and knowing how unheard of it was for them to share this knowledge with any human made her feel closer to them. They told her with more regular practice, she may be able to speak to her dæmon, but they were not sure.

Every day, Susan would go walking with Julia. She told Julia more about herself than she told any of the other witches. The witch queen listened intently the first time Susan told her about Narnia. Susan told her about her two experiences in the magical land, and about how she regarded her memories of it in the years following her last visit, up until the deaths of the seven friends of Narnia. Julia was frowning by the end of Susan's explanation. They were quiet for a few minutes after Susan finished her story, as Susan dwelled on old memories and as Julia processed all she had been told.

Eventually, Julia spoke, "Becoming a queen of Narnia was your destiny." Susan turned to face her, tilting her head inquiringly. She wasn't sure if that was a question. Julia continued, "Witches believe in the fates. We are bound by them, but we pretend as though we are not, to avoid losing our minds. The fates guided you to becoming a queen. You said so yourself. There was a prophecy. But the fates also sent you home. You were as much meant to have a life in England as you were meant to rule Narnia."

Susan averted her gaze. Her heart was racing; she was surprised at how excited she was to hear this new explanation of her life. She took a few moments to process what Julia had said, and then asked, "You really think so?"

"I am certain of it. Just as I am certain you were meant to not be on that train, and that you were meant to come here," Julia replied.

Susan smiled: a true, genuine smile. Julia's perspective of events made Susan feel lighter. She had not felt so light, so free of guilt, since before her family had died. She confessed how she was feeling, "Ever since my family died, I've wondered if I was wrong to not reminisce with them about Narnia. They always made me feel as though I couldn't go forward, as if I couldn't try new experiences. I loved – I love them, but…I felt as though they thought I was not good enough, the way I am. Certainly Jill didn't think so, nor Aunt Polly, really."

Julia said nothing at first. They walked through the snow in silence for a few minutes. Eventually, she said, "You know, the young witches, the children – children even in your sense of the word – many of them do not like to leave the cave. The humans nearby make them uneasy. You have heard them hunting, you can understand that. Thankfully, flying is so exhilarating, so addicting, that once we give them a taste of it, they would face anything to be able to fly again. Their reservations do not last long, but they are often there. The cave is a safe place for a witch child." She looked over at Susan, who was watching her curiously, "Your family reminds me of them."

Susan blinked, taken aback, "I don't understand."

"Memories of Narnia were pleasant and familiar to them, even though their memories were shadows of the real thing. They latched onto those shadows even though a vibrant, rich, real world was around them." Julia's eyes raked Susan's contemplative face. "You dared to step outside of the cave, so to speak."

Susan was quiet for a few minutes while she thought about what Julia said. Finally, she said, "I never thought of it that way." Something occurred to her, though, "But that's not completely true. My sister Lucy said that her memories of Narnia helped her have a richer perception of our world."

Julia shrugged, "Perhaps it is not a perfect metaphor. Your family and friends were adults, or nearly so, after all. Or perhaps your sister was special. Regardless, they did preoccupy themselves with their memories, and judge you for your attachments to your own world. I do not mean to speak poorly of the loved ones you have lost," she quickly added, seeing Susan's defensively scrunched brow, "I am sure they loved you, and were good people in their own way. It is simply against my own culture to judge another, particularly my own kin, for wanting to experience the world."

Susan bowed her head. She did feel slightly uncomfortable, being reminded of the not-so-kind thoughts she had once had about the seven friends of Narnia. It was true that in the months since their passing, she had glorified them and absolved them from any wrongdoing. They had been human beings, though, and of course they had had their faults. Susan could love and miss them, while still acknowledging that. It was part of healing.

Susan smiled at Julia, "I'd lost sight of how much I enjoyed just living life. Thank you for reminding me."

Julia smiled broadly, and put her arm around Susan, "My pleasure."


	6. Sexuality

**Sexuality**

Weeks past, and Susan felt truly settled in her life among the witches. It was almost as if she had never lived another life. One day, in the early morning, she sat in the cave making new arrows next to a witch named Aita Mägi, who was pregnant. They worked mostly in a comfortable silence, but they occasionally would remark on something else that was happening in the cave. As they worked, another witch, Ilme Kallas, landed at the entrance to the cave, and walked confidently, practically strutting, inside, a smile on her face. Aita snorted, and Susan glanced over at her curiously. A few witches near the entrance to the cave welcomed Ilme in Estonian, and Susan detected a playful lilt to their voices. One witch even playfully slapped her on the arm.

Susan asked Aita, "What's so funny?"

Aita looked up from the arrow she was working on, over at Ilme, and replied, "Nothing, really. My amusement comes more from a shared understanding." Susan's expression did not change from inquiring. Aita's lips quirked, and so she clarified, "Ilme obviously laid with a lover last night."

"Oh," Susan replied, her face coloring. She looked quickly down at the arrow she was working on, suddenly becoming engrossed with it.

Aita, though, knew that Susan had become quite skilled at arrow crafting, and did not need to be so focused on the arrow to carve it properly. She smiled in amusement at Susan's embarrassment, "Do you following the teachings of the Church?"

Confused, Susan looked back up at Aita, "What? No, not really."

Aita raised her eyebrows, "Not really?"

"Well," Susan elaborated, "I was _raised_ with it, but I don't consider myself to follow it."

Aita nodded, "I see. So, you were trained in their culture. That is why you are uncomfortable with the idea of laying with a man."

Susan's face turned bright red, now, "What? I – I am n-not."

Aita was grinning now, rubbing her large, pregnant belly pleasantly, "It is alright, Susan Marksman. I am familiar with your kind. I do not feel judged."

"I'm not judging," Susan returned quickly, some of the color leaving her face in her seriousness.

Aita inclined her head in acknowledgement, "I know. But it is part of your upbringing to believe that a woman can only lay with a man once he is her husband, is it not?"

Susan bowed her head again over her arrow, and mumbled, "I suppose it is."

Aita nodded matter-of-factly, ignoring Susan's discomfort, "That is the human way. There is no need to feel ashamed of that. But you are half witch now, Susan Marksman, and you should know that you also do not have to be ashamed should you one day feel inclined to lay with a man, without being married." She leaned closer to Susan, smiling conspiratorially, "It opens you to a whole new part of the world you have yet to experience. It can be quite fun, you know."

None of this had much of an effect on Susan's embarrassment, but she remembered it.

* * *

There was a man Susan's age, who spoke English, who lived in the village just a few miles away from the witches' cave. A few of the villagers spoke English, and some knew choppy words and phrases, so it was not completely out of the ordinary for this man to speak English, but he was the only one Susan's age. He sold fish in the market square every Saturday, and the witches began to notice that Susan would always ask if anyone wanted to go to the village on Saturdays. They exchanged knowing, mischievous glances every time Susan turned to leave on Saturdays.

They were right, of course. At first, Susan had simply enjoyed talking to him in English, because he provided a sense of variety in a life that had begun to feel a little too monotonous for her taste. Over time, though, Susan found that more than just enjoying talking to someone different in her native language, she simply enjoyed talking to _him_. She even tried impressing him with her limited Estonian, and was rewarded with heartfelt enthusiasm. He made her laugh, he made her blush; he made her heart twist with anxiety when she reflected on their conversations later, or when he wasn't in his usual spot for selling fish because someone else had set up there before him.

One particular Saturday, Susan approached him at his fish stand and greeted him in Estonian, " _Tere, Jakob!_ "

He smiled and waved, returning the greeting in English, "Hello, Susan!"

Susan planted her feet in the snow next to him, and narrowed her eyes at him playfully, "Are you trying to tell me that my pronunciation is bad?"

Jakob laughed, "No, not at all. Perhaps I want to show you the same courtesy you show me."

"I suppose that is an acceptable response," Susan returned, smiling.

He bowed his head dramatically, "Thank you."

"How are sales today?" Susan asked conversationally.

"Great!" he replied, smiling broadly. "Maybe I could use some of the money I earn today to buy you dinner?"

Susan's face colored, but she smiled happily, "I would like that."

He winked at her, "Are you sure your witch friends will allow you to be away from them for that long."

Susan laughed, but her smile did falter as she thought of her dæmon problem, "Well, perhaps our dinner shouldn't be too long. I wouldn't want to worry them!" She said this in a teasing manner, but she hoped it established an expectation that the dinner would not, in fact, last too long.

Jakob smiled at her, "Well, as always I close at sunset. Meet me here then?"

Susan smiled gently and nodded. Jakob turned his attention to an approaching customer, and Susan slipped away, feeling giddy. Her heart raced in her chest. She walked over to Maia, the witch she had come with today, and who was responsible for her dæmon guise. Maia was smiling at her in amusement. Susan tried to scowl at her for jumping to conclusions, but her smile shone through, and Maia simply laughed at the attempt. Once Susan was right in front of her, she admonished the witch, "Don't laugh at me!"

"I am sorry, Susan Marksman," Maia replied, still laughing. She sighed, and her smile slowly faded. She eyed Susan contemplatively, "Has no one told you what you risk by becoming linked with another?"

Susan stopped smiling, taken aback. "What do you mean?"

Maia sighed, and prompted, "About your dæmon?"

Susan stared at her, not comprehending. "I don't believe I know what you're talking about."

Maia nodded, frowning lightly, "I suppose it falls to me, then. When humans become linked, even flirtatiously, their dæmons also become linked. Jakob's dæmon will notice that this bird is not your dæmon."

Susan's heart pounded for a completely different reason than it had raced before, "What do I do?"

Maia placed a reassuringly hand on Susan's shoulder, "Hope that Jakob is understanding." Noticing that this did not calm Susan, she added, "He seems to me to be the type to at least allow you to explain. I think he would accept an explanation to do with your association with witches. Perhaps the full truth would be too much for him to grasp, though."

Susan nodded solemnly, now nervous about her dinner with Jakob in a very different way from before.

* * *

Susan met Jakob in the market square at sunset, as planned. He beamed as she approached, evidently alone. Maia hung back, performing a standard concealment spell. Susan, meanwhile, tried not to let her nervousness show as she returned Jakob's smile. "Ready to go?" she asked.

He nodded, and gestured in the direction of the restaurant he planned to take her to. They walked side by side. Susan's heart pounded, and she had a long, internal debate with herself over whether she should take his arm. Jakob side-eyed her nervously, as if wondering the same thing, or perhaps whether he should offer. Finally, Susan tentatively touched his elbow. Jakob turned to smile down at her, and stuck out his elbow invitingly, encouraging her to slip her hand through. Her heart leaping, Susan did.

They walked like that for a much shorter stretch of time than they had apart, as it took them both a long time to decide what to do with their hands. They quickly arrived at the restaurant. The ice had been broken, though, and conversation flowed easily between them again, like it always did in the light of day in the market square. Susan relaxed into the familiarity of talking to Jakob, feeling less worried about her dæmon problem.

After dinner, they went for a walk through the village, now comfortably walking arm-in-arm. Eventually, Jakob said, "I know the witches live a few miles from here. Is anyone going to be meeting you on the edge of the village?"

"Yes, Maia plans to walk back with me," Susan assured him.

"She is the one who was with you in the market today?"

"Yes."

They walked in a comfortable silence for a few more minutes, their bodies very close. After a few minutes of that peaceful silence, Jakob spoke up, "Susan? Can I ask you a personal question?"

Susan looked up at him, surprised at his hesitation, "Yes, of course."

Still, he hesitated. "What…what happened to your dæmon?"

Susan's heart pounded nervously, "What do you mean?"

His eyes darted nervously to look at her, and then at his feet. They walked a little farther apart now, but their arms were still linked, "Lehte told me that…well, that bird is not a dæmon."

Susan looked at her feet, too, unsure of what to say. She opened and closed her mouth several times.

Jakob continued nervously, "But Lehte also says she is sure you have one. She can tell. I feel it too. I thought maybe your dæmon is like a witch dæmon, but since you are a human the witches help you pretend like…like your dæmon is normal. To not make people uncomfortable."

Susan sighed, and scratched her head, "It's complicated. It's something like that." She looked up at him earnestly, "I do have one, though, I promise, and his name really is Taevas, and he is a blackbird."

Jakob nodded, and smiled slightly at her, "I believe you. Lehte can sense him. You seem whole to me, too."

Susan turned to face him fully, stopping in the street. She gave him a relieved smile as he turned to face her, too. "I haven't scared you away?"

"Not a chance," he replied, smiling broadly again. They grinned at each other stupidly, standing there in the middle of the street with their hands clasped together.


	7. Home

**Home**

Susan and Jakob only grew closer in the coming weeks. The witches teased Susan the way they teased the rest of their sisters about relations with men. The witches gave Susan the confidence and self-assuredness she needed to continue to pursue Jakob, regardless of his questions about her dæmon. She felt free, living her life without worrying about societal constraints or judgements. At home, beyond her family she even had friends who would have been scandalized if she even considered becoming intimate with a man before marrying him; now, she had friends who flat out encouraged it, and she kept their encouragements in mind the day that she did decide to concede to her desire. Maia had been right. She did feel as though she had unlocked a door to a whole other part of life she had not known before. Susan felt that it was liberating to live this way. She had never felt so comfortable in her own skin as she did now.

One day, Susan walked again with Julia Ojuland, the witch queen, through the same wood in which they had first met. They walked slowly, leisurely, arm-in-arm. Julia listened with a smile on her face as Susan told her about her last date with Jakob. Once Susan was finished, Julia asked, "So, Susan Marksman, what are your future plans?"

Susan glanced at Julia sideways, hesitantly, "My plans?"

Julia nodded, looking ahead still, "Yes. Do you think you will marry this man?"

Susan opened her mouth in surprise, staring at Julia as they walked, "I thought you didn't care if I laid with him without being married?"

Julia laughed, "You misunderstand me. I am not worried about your virtue. But taking lovers without commitment is the witch way. You are still a human, Susan Marksman. Humans settle; they fall in love, they marry, they have children. Do you not want those things?"

Susan blinked, and slowly replied, "I think I do."

Julia sighed, and they walked in silence again. Susan became lost in thought over what Julia had brought up. Eventually, Julia continued, "Witches are nomadic. We stay at this cave only part of the year. I, in particular, need to visit the other communities in Nania. We would be happy to take you with us when we go, but we wonder if you would rather stay."

Susan's heart dropped to her stomach. She had already had an idea that something like this was coming. There had been more activity around the cave than usual recently. She swallowed hard, "I don't know what I want."

Julia sighed, "I am sorry. I know that this is a lot to put on your shoulders." Susan exhaled deeply, and Julia gave her a sympathetic smile. After a few moments of silence, Julia asked quietly, "Perhaps you should ask yourself if you can imagine yourself as his wife."

Susan did ask herself that. She pictured herself living in this village for the rest of her life, the wife of a fisherman who sold his catch in the market square every Saturday. She knew from their brief relationship that he spent many hours on his boat, fishing. She knew that she already felt as though her life with the witches had grown monotonous; she imagined she would feel the same way, and perhaps feel it more so living with Jakob in his village. Then, of course, there was her dæmon problem. She would feel isolated, trying to hide it from the rest of the village. How would she manage without the witches to help? Her heart raced with nervousness as she realized that the reality of spending the rest of her life with Jakob hit her.

She knew what was missing from her life: a city, a real city. She thought back to her home world, with the parties and the people and the variety of ways to walk to work. She missed her dingy little apartment. She missed the warmth of the summer sun, and the bloom of the flowers in the spring, the changing colors of the leaves in the fall. She missed her friends, the people who had tried to reach out to her after the deaths of all her immediate family, but who simply could not relate. She wished she had appreciated their attempts more. She knew that they cared. She wondered what they thought happened to her. They thought she ran away, she expected. Aunt Alberta and Uncle Harold probably knew she was missing by now. She wondered if they were worried, if they cared. Considering she was the only family that Alberta, at least, had left, she imagined they were worried a little.

Julia stopped walking, and Susan turned to look at the tree that obstructed their path. She inhaled sharply as her eyes fell on an "L" marked into the tree, healed over a dark, ashy brown color; it had been a pink-red the day she cut it. Susan snapped her head in Julia's direction, realizing Julia had known this whole time what Susan would choose. She stared at the witch queen for a few seconds before finally saying, "I want to say goodbye to everyone first."

Julia inclined her head in understanding.

* * *

So, Susan did say goodbye. The witches of Nania held a feast in her honor that night. Susan laughed and cried with them throughout the night as they traded stories and reminisced on her time with them. Near the end of the feast, with a happy glow in her cheeks from laughing at their memories, Susan announced, "In all seriousness, I want to thank you all. I have learned so much in the time I have spent with you, and only a fraction of that is survival skills. I have learned, most importantly, about myself. You have taught me to embrace who I am, to be confident and self-assured. You have taught me to avoid the judgement of others. You have reminded me that my life, at least, is short, and that I should live it to the fullest. I will strive to fit a whole witch's lifetime in my short one. Perhaps not with as many lovers, though." The witches laughed. "I was doubting myself when I came to you. I had learned some lessons from the loss of my family and friends, but you helped me sort through my muddled thoughts and feelings and put me back on my feet. I will be forever grateful for you."

Julia raised a glass to her, "And we will be forever grateful for you. You will always have witch sisters in our world." The other witches raised their glasses and drank to Susan.

The next day, Julia went with her to the village so she could say goodbye to Jakob. This goodbye would be hard. She had debated going at all, but to avoid going would be cowardly, she went. Lucy would have gone, Susan knew. Jakob did not understand. He was understandably upset. He had thought they had a future together. Susan begged him to not let their last meeting be a negative one. He had hung his head, and then embraced her fiercely. Susan could not help herself; she cried at their parting.

From the village, Julia led her back through the wood to the tree Susan had marked months ago. Once there, witch and woman turned to say goodbye for the last time. Susan did not want to cry again, but again, she could not help it. She loved all the people she had become close to in this world. For a moment she doubted that she was making the right decision.

As if sensing her conflict, Julia put a hand on Susan's shoulder and said, "You know what the right thing to do is."

Susan bowed her head, and then nodded. Julia gently touched Susan's chin, coaxing her to look up. She smiled reassuringly at Susan, "I will never forget you, Susan Marksman."

Susan smiled, and drew Julia into a fierce hug. When they finally withdrew, Susan nodded curtly at her, adjusting her bag on her shoulder, and walked around the portal to face it, with her back to her guiding tree. She made eye contact with Julia one last time. Julia smiled sorrowfully, and Susan's heart ached to see tears in her eyes. "I will never forget you, Julia Ojuland."

They smiled at each other, and, with a deep breath, Susan finally stepped back through the window into her own world, carrying with her not only her bag, but also a great deal of wisdom.


End file.
